Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 228
Of her the gifted, lofty-minded woman.
Her death at last unseals my lips. I dare
Before my King to name my daughter now —
I dare demand of him to lift her up
Upon a level with me and her peers,
To recognize her right to princely birth
Before his court, his kingdom and the world,
So sure am I of favor in his heart!
King.
If all the virtues of her noble parents
Are found united in this niece whom thou
Preparest to present me ready grown,
Then must the court, then must our royal house,
From which a brilliant star set all too soon,
Give welcome to the new star rising fair.
Duke.
Oh, learn to know her ere thou judgest her
With prejudice. Let not a father’s pride
Pervert thee. Much has Nature done for her
Which I with rarest pleasure contemplate.
And all the culture which our rank demands
Has, since her babyhood, been warmly foster’d.
Her steps were guided from her earliest days
By a skilful governess, a wise professor.
With what light-heartedness and pleasant wit
She makes the present serve her ready mind,
While poet Fancy paints with flattering hues
The fortune which she waits with eager joy!
Her gentle heart clings to her loving father,
Although her spirit willingly gives heed
To wise discourse of noble-thinking men,
Leading her slowly up the hill of learning.
And all the exercise of princely virtues
Is manifest in her fair graceful form.
Sire! thou thyself hast seen her unbeknown,
While round thee whirl’d the tumult of the chase.
To-day a daughter of the Amazons
She first upon the traces of the stag
Dash’d gallantly across the swelling stream.
King.
We trembled when we saw the noble maid.
I am rejoic’d to know she is my kin.
Duke.
And not to-day alone I learn’d to know
How pride and apprehension, joy and trouble
Commingle in a father’s yearning breast.
King.
With mighty force and panting strove the steed
To land his rider on the farther shore,
Where thick-grown bushes hide the dusky hill,
And thus she vanish’d from my sight.
Duke.
Once more
My eyes beheld her ere the labyrinth
Of bosky forest led us thus astray.
Who knows what distant field she now explores
With heart on fire because she miss’d the goal,
Where now alone it is permitted her
To approach the presence of her King revered,
And humbly wait until with royal favor
She is acknowledg’d as his kith and kin —
The latest blossom of his ancient line.
King.
But what is yonder tumult that I see?
What means the running towards the precipice?
SCENE II.
The Same.
Count.
King.
Why are the people gathering with such haste?
Count.
The eager huntress whom we all admir’d
Has fallen headlong from yon rocky height.
Duke.
My God!
King.
And are her wounds severe?
Count.
In haste
They sent away to call thy surgeon, Sire.
Duke.
Why do I linger? If she’s dead, then naught
Remains for me to live for in the world.
SCENE III.
King. Count.
King.
What was it caus’d the accident, Sir Count?
Count.
It happen’d right before my very eyes:
A band of many riders found themselves
By fortune separated from the hunt,
And, led by that fair lady, prick’d their way
Upon the wood-crown’d summit of yon height.
They hear, they see below them in the valley
That all is over, see the noble stag
Succumb before the pack of yelping hounds,
And quickly then the company disbands,
Each seeking by the path where each may best, —
One here, one there, — a prosperous exit down.
But she alone no instant hesitates,
But spurs her steed from crag to crag sheer down;
We marvel at the luck of recklessness.
Bravely it goes with her awhile; at last
When she has reach’d the ultimate descent,
A steep bold cliff, the horse mistakes his steps
So insecure, and down he goes with her.
Thus much I saw and then the hurrying throng
Hid her from sight. I heard them call the surgeon;
And so I now am here to tell thee, Sire.
King.
Oh, that she may be spar’d him! Dangerous
Is that man who has nothing more to lose.
Count.
Has then this sudden fright compell’d the secret,
Which, until now, he strove so hard to hide?
King.
His confidence was freely given ere now.
Count.
The Princess’s death remov’d the seal of silence
From lips which tell a history long disclos’d —
An open secret unto court and city.
It is a curious and absurd conceit
That we through silence can annihilate
For others or ourselves the deeds we do.
King.
Oh, leave to man this noble touch of pride!
He can, he must do many, many things
Which are not suitable to put in words.
Count.
They bring her hither, lifeless I’m afraid.
King.
Oh, what an unexpected, sad event!
SCENE IV.
The Same.
Eugenie laid apparently dead on woven boughs of pine.
Duke. Surgeon. Attendants.
Duke.
(To the Surgeon.) Oh, if thy art and skill have any power,
Experienc’d sir, to whom our monarch’s life,
A priceless treasure, is entrusted, let
Her bright eyes once more open to the day,
That hope may shine upon me in her glance,
That from the depths of grief I may be sav’d,
If only for a fleeting moment now.
And then if nothing more, if thou canst keep her
Only a fleeting moment for me, then,
Oh, let me haste and pass away before her,
That in the very article of death
I still may say, consol’d, “My daughter lives.”
King.
Pray, leave us, uncle! Let me undertake
The faithful service of a father’s love.
This worthy man will nothing leave undone;
As though myself lay wounded sore, he will —
Doubt not — exert his skill upon thy daughter.
Duke.
She moves!
King.
Art thou assur’d of it?
Duke.
She moves!
Her eyes are open wide; she glances round!
She lives! She lives!
King.
(Stepping back a little.) Redouble your exertions!
Duke.
She lives! She lives! Again the light of day
Her eyes behold. Yes! soon she’ll recognize
Her loving father and her friends once more!
My darling child, gaze no
t so wild around
As though uncertain: towards me turn thy face,
Oh, turn thy face upon thy father first.
Dost thou not know me? Let thy father’s voice
Be first to reach thy ear, as thou returnest
From gloomy shades of everlasting night!
Eugenie.
(Who little by little has returned to consciousness and sits up.) Where am I? What has happen’d to me?
Duke.
First,
Oh, speak to me! Dost thou not know me?
Eugenie.
Father!
Duke.
Yes, ’tis thy father whom with these sweet tones
Thou savest from the arms of grim despair!
Eugenie.
Who brought me here among these trees?
Duke.
(To whom the surgeon has handed a white handkerchief.) Be calm,
My daughter! Take this strengthening draught,
Take it with confidence, with quiet soul.
Eugenie.
(Takes the handkerchief from her father as he holds it in his hands, and buries her face in it; then suddenly gets to her feet, taking the handkerchief from her face.)
There! I’m myself again! Now I remember!
On yonder height I rein’d my horse and dar’d
Ride down, sheer down the rocky side. Forgive me —
I stumbled, did I not? Canst thou forgive me?
They took me up for dead? My darling father!
And canst thou ever love thy child again,
Who caus’d such bitter anguish to thy heart?
Duke.
I thought I knew how precious was the treasure
God granted when he gave me thee, my daughter!
But now the loss I fear’d has caused my gain
To rise to estimation infinite.
King.
(Who till now has remained in the background conversing with the Surgeon and the Count — to the others.)
Let all withdraw! I wish to speak with them.
SCENE V.
King. Duke. Eugenie.
King.
(Approaching.) And is the gallant huntress quite recover’d?
Has she escap’d unharm’d?
Duke.
Yes! quite, my King!
And all the sad remains of fright and woe,
Thou, Sire, dispellest by thy gentle glance,
And by the magic of thy tender tones.
King.
Pray tell me who the lovely maiden is.
Duke.
(After a pause.) Since thou art pleas’d to ask, I will confess —
Since thou demandest, I will solve my pledge,
And introduce my daughter.
King.
What! thy daughter?
Then, uncle, Fortune has been kinder to thee,
Yea, infinitely kinder than the law.
Eugenie.
Am I indeed brought back to life again?
Has that strange deathlike faintness pass’d away?
And is this scene no fiction of a dream?
My father in the presence of his King
Declares his daughter! Nay! I do not dream.
The uncle of a monarch recognizes
That I’m his child. So then am I the niece —
The niece of the great King! Oh, pardon me,
Your Majesty, if brought so suddenly
From out the mystery of my dark retreat,
Expos’d to all the blinding light of day,
I totter, and cannot control myself.
[She throws herself at the feet of the King.
King.
May reverence mark thy life from youth to age.
The reverence symboliz’d before me now!
And sweet humility whose narrow duties
Thou, fully conscious of thy lofty birth,
Hast practis’d many a year far from the world.
[He raises her and presses her gently to his heart.
artist: otto seitz
THE NATURAL DAUGHTER. ACT I, SCENE IV.
eugenia recognizes her father.
And now if from before my feet I lift thee
And take thee to my heart, if on thy brow
I print the fond kiss of paternal love,
Let this be also as a seal, a symbol:
Thee my relation do I recognize;
And soon what I have done in secret here,
Before my courtiers’ eyes will I repeat.
Duke.
Such splendid grace demands a life of thanks,
Of undivided boundless loyalty.
Eugenie.
From noble teachers many things I’ve learn’d,
And much instruction from my heart have gain’d,
Yet when it comes to speaking to my King
I find the preparation sadly lacking.
Yet if I cannot speak as I would wish,
Expressing all my duty, still thy presence
Forbids me awkwardly to stand in silence.
What could I give thee? What return devise?
The abundance ever flowing to thy hands,
For good of others streams away again.
Here thousands stand to give their lives for thine,
Here thousands work obedient to thy orders,
And if a single subject freely offers
His heart and soul, his arm and life for thee,
Among such numbers he is lost from sight,
Forgot by thee and by himself forgot.
King.
If unto thee the masses seem o’erwhelming,
Thou lovely child, it is not strange indeed.
They are o’erwhelming, yet the noble few,
By Nature made to stand above the masses
Through skill and culture and the power to rule,
Are more imposing. If the King thereto
Was call’d by birth, then are his next of kin
Born counsellors, who, closely knit to him,
Are bound to guard the realm and foster it.
Oh, never let dissension mask’d come in,
With dark insidious working, to these regions
Where stand this band of patriotic watchmen.
To thee, my noble cousin, I give a father
By virtue of our royal power supreme.
Preserve him to me, use thy winsome ways
To keep my kinsman’s heart and voice in faith,
For many enemies oppose a prince;
Oh, let him stand aloof from treacherous paths.
Duke.
Why dost thou pain my heart with such reproaches?
Eugenie.
Incomprehensible are these thy words!
King.
May fortune keep thee long from comprehending!
The portals of our royal house I open,
Inviting thee to enter. By the hand
I lead thee in o’er slippery marble pavements.
Thou art amaz’d; thyself and all thou seest
Are strange to thee. Thou thinkest here within
To find sure worth and perfect peace united —
Thou art deceiv’d! Thou comest at a time
Not mark’d by joyous bright festivities,
E’en though the King invite thee to partake
In welcoming the day that gave him birth.
Yet shall the day for thy sake have its joy;
There shall I see thee in the merry throng,
The cynosure of every wondering eye.
Right royally has Nature fashion’d thee;
And that thy jewels meet thy princely rank
Thy father and thy monarch will provide.
Eugenie.
How could the sudden cry of pleas’d surprise,
The eager gesture’s quick significance,
Express the language of the beating heart,
Rejoic’d by such high generosity?
Sire, let me kneel in silence at thy feet!
[She offers to kneel.
King.
Thou must not kneel!
Eugenie.
Oh, let me here enjoy
The pleasant fortune of complete submission!
If we in tense and sudden moments stand
Erect upon our feet and boldly wage
To bear the earnest of our own support,
We seem the owners of the earth and heaven.
Yet what in moments of keen ravishment
Causes the knee to bend is also joy.
And all of sweet thanksgiving, love unmeasur’d,
Which we might bring as purest offering
To father, monarch, God. is best express’d
In such an humble attitude as this.
[Again kneeling before the King.
Duke.
Renew’d allegiance would I offer thee!
Eugenie.
As ever-faithful vassals look upon us!
King.
Up! then! arise and take thy place beside me,
Within the circle of those trusty few
Sworn to defend the right and reasonable!
Oh, fearful are the portents of these days.
The dregs boil up, the high-born sink below
As though each in the other’s place might find
Fulfilment of his unrestrain’d desires,
As though enjoyment only were in store
When class distinctions were all wash’d away,
And when we all commingl’d in one stream
Were hurl’d unnotic’d to the boundless ocean.
Oh, let us fight against it, let us boldly
With new-united double might hold fast
To what may hold us and the people fast.
And lastly let us heal the ancient strife
That stirs the great against the great, within
The ship of State makes weak the walls protecting
The battling crew against the angry waves without.
Eugenie.
What clear beneficent rays enlighten me
And stir to deeds instead of blinding me!
What! does our King so highly honor us
That he confesses that he needs our aid?
We are not only kinsfolk to him, we
Are rais’d to loftiest station by his trust.
And if the nobles of his kingdom press
Around him to protect his royal breast,
Of us he asks a nobler service yet.
The highest duty of the well dispos’d
Is ever to uphold the monarch’s heart.
For if he flinch, then flinches all the State,
And if he fall, then all things fall with him.
Youth, people say, has too much confidence
In its own strength, and in its will to do,
Yet all this will, this strength, and their endeavor
Is dedicate to thee, O King, forever.
Duke.
The child’s assurance, Highness, thou wilt honor,
And thou wilt pardon for its kind intent.
And if her father, taught by many years,